Scenes From The Sex Wars
by Phoenix Moon 13
Summary: Mid season 6 SB slightly fluffy angst. Pre-coital, post-coital... Because it couldn't have just been sex, could it? PG for language and references
1. Scene 1: Of Spiders And Sense

**_Scenes From The Sex Wars  
_Scene 1: Of Spiders and Sense**

Author's Note: This is set somewhere in the middle of the S/B thing. It has no particular place really - poor thing.

* * *

He could smell her nearby. He decided that he was going to avoid her. This wasn't what he wanted. If she wanted a boy toy so bad, let her cart herself off to LA to be with Angel.

He was done with this freak show.

But despite these thoughts, the hours he had spent carefully constructing his put-downs that afternoon, he strode toward her and leaned against a tree, watching her fight a demon.

He had known when he first saw her that she would move like that. Violent grace, purposeful… Damned sexy. He had known when he fought her that she would be great in bed.

It hadn't occurred to him, however, that in bed, she would still be fighting.

She twirled and her arms were straight, pulled out by the weight of the axe she carried. The demon's head left its body and she continued to spin, carried round by the axe. She stopped abruptly when she saw him and he raised an eyebrow, raking his eyes over her body. The tight pants, the small top. He was sure she did it just to torment him.

"What do you want?" she snapped, her breathing slightly heavy and he saw her surpress a shudder at his obvious approval of her clothing.

He frowned a little. He'd had a purpose, he was sure of it. But somehow he couldn't remember it. He could remember the last time they had been together and he smirked at the delicious memory.

"Wondered if you wanted any… company," he let the word take on its own meaning and she sighed.

"Spike," her voice was weary, her head bowing toward the floor and he reached out to touch her arm - whipped puppy that he was - in reassurance. But he soon pulled back when she looked up and glared at him. "Spike, I'm the Slayer. What happened to hating me? I fight big, lumpy, disgusting demons. And I sleep with one too! No offence," she offered him an apologetic look that he accepted with a shrug and waited for her to continue, he was obviously not the only one who had been practising a speech. Usually, she didn't get this verbal until he had goaded her for at least five minutes. "This is not the way it's supposed to be! I kill demons, they're supposed to _fear_ me, not _love _me because I'm the Slay-ahhh!" she kicked out her leg, doing - what Spike could only describe as a very poor hokey-cokey. "A spider! Spike! Help! Get it off me!"

He blinked in astonishment before doubling up with laughter. He could vaguely hear her screaming at him to stop laughing and get the damn thing off her. He stumbled toward her and gave a half-hearted swipe with the cuff of his duster at the black speck on her leg.

She was bright red when he finally stopped laughing and straightened up. She let out a "Humph!" and turned sharply on her heel. He tailed after her, not about to let this glorious opportunity go to waste.

"Let me get this right," he said, grabbing her elbow and drawing her to a halt. She faced him with a resigned expression and put her hands on her hips with a silent 'Go on, give me your best shot.' He let go of her arm and smirked. "You have - as you put it - a 'spider sense,' but you're scared of spiders?"

"It was a Spiderman reference, not a Steve Irwin one!" she corrected incredulously, then she gave him her own smirk and a brief _bloody hell_ floated across his mind before she asked. "Anyway, do_ you_ like them?"

"I live in a crypt!" he cried, throwing his hands up to hide his disgusted shudder. However, she had noticed it and he gave a small, embarrassed shrug. "Ok, no I don't. But I don't scream like a girl about it!"

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she wondered if Spike was brain dead instead of dead dead. He came out with the stupidest things sometimes.

"I am a girl!" she pointed out in a voice cultivated to match the rolling eyes.

He arched an eyebrow at her and his eyes drifted away from her face, lingering over her breasts before sweeping down to take in her legs. She almost expected him to ask her to turn around so he could check out her ass.

"So I'd noticed," he replied smoothly.

"You're disgusting!" she spat, turning from him to stalk home.

A futile attempt, she knew, as Spike was about as likely to leave her alone now as she was going to be able to make the next bill_._

"I take it you haven't seen 'Eight Legged Freaks'?" he asked conversationally, falling into step beside her.

"What are you?" she demanded. "Crazy? Or deaf?"

"Just making conversation, Slayer," he answered, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Well… Go make it somewhere else."

"Or," he drew her to a halt again and licked his lips. "We could make hay instead."

She blinked at him before sniggering.

"God, Spike!" she laughed. "Where the hell did you get that? That's down there with 'Do you believe in love at first sight, or shall I walk by again'!"

"Hey!" Spike cried. "I've got more wit and class than that."

"Not if that pick up line was anything to go by… What?" she frowned at the sudden look on his face.

She didn't like that look. It was easier when he leered or glared at her. It was easier then to forget he loved her, but when he gave her that look, she felt guilty for using him. Which was entirely unfair because he was using her too!

"You're laughing," he said softly.

"So?" she had tried to snap, really she had, but his voice and that goddamn look made her voice all small. Dammit.

"You rarely do that with me," he gave her a gentle smile, one that made her flash back to when he cradled her shattered knuckles and asked how long it had been for her.

"I do sometimes," she said softly.

"You should do it more often," he stated. "Makes you look lovely."

She had been unaware that she had been slowly walking towards him.

"Thank you," she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her and took a step back, suddenly remembering that he was going to end this.

"Don't thank me," he snapped. "I'm just getting sick of the miserable mug."

She stared at him before she glared again.

"And I'm getting sick of your lovesick look!" she retorted.

"Doesn't stop you coming back though, does it?" he sneered. "To the only person who can make you feel!"

"Thing!" she shouted. "You're not a person, you're a thing!"

"The only thing standing between you and despair," he crowed.

"Shut up!"

"A thing that you _crave_. A thing you _need_."

"Shut up! Shut up!" she had grabbed hold of the lapels of his duster and shook him.

She must have shook him too hard, because the next thing she knew, his lips had connected with hers.

She tried not to need it, really she did. She tried to push him away, but she couldn't.

Before she knew it, he had pushed them both into a clump of bushes nearby and her back arched in need and pain as it connected with a hard floor.

But as she had grown to learn, feeling this with her supposed enemy, was better than feeling nothing.


	2. Scene 2: Icecubes In The Emptiness

**_Scenes From The Sex Wars  
_Scene 2: Icecubes In The Emptiness**

Author's Note: This is based on Spike saying, "Put ice on her neck… She likes that." I think he said it in _Normal Again_.

* * *

Buffy was sore. Her back was still aching, though she blamed an over enthusiastic vampire for that. And that sounded a lot less like Spike when it just floated through her head.

With a sigh, she studied her stake and swept imaginary dust from it. She gave it a halfhearted twirl and sighed again. She seemed to do that a lot lately.

Her gaze swung around the cemetery. She wasn't looking for Spike. No siree. He was wrong. She didn't crave him. She could do just fine without him. She didn't need him to get through the day.

And y'know, it wasn't just him that made her feel. Her friends company made her happy, as did her sister's company. Dawn maddened her too, irritated her and made her laugh. Really she did. What is that if not feelings?

But the truth was she didn't want irritation or laughter. She didn't want the type of happiness that melted like chocolate in her sister's tight grip as she watched a horror movie.

She wanted the release Spike gave her, and if she craved it, she blamed her friends. If they hadn't pulled her from Heaven, she wouldn't want the way his cool fingers could force away every memory of duty and Slayerhood.

Because it was her damn duty as the Slayer that caused her death, that led to her being torn from Heaven. All she wanted was to forget.

There were two types of emptiness. The one she hated was the one that she carried with her all day, a constant ache, like tears in her gut. It was a constant battle not to fall to her knees and sob and rage at the unfairness of it all. Because although she could blame her friends for pulling her from Heaven, she couldn't hate them for it because they were only trying to help. And it she was making herself miserable by doing… things with Spike. She couldn't blame them for that.

The other emptiness was the one Spike offered. Which was the problem; once he made her forget, she was gloriously empty of that ache and everything else. She hated herself for sleeping with Spike, but she needed that emptiness that only he offered.

She chuckled ironically. She needed emptiness to beat emptiness. God, she was screwed up.

The problem was, once her scream faded into nothing in the dead air of the crypt, the memories came flooding back, the chill in the air reminded her of her coffin.

What was the point in continuing this… this _thing_ with Spike if the wonderful emptiness didn't last? It wasn't a long-term cure. It was a quick fix that had to be renewed.

"Limping, Slayer? Hope that's not my fault."

"What do you want?" she felt like crying. He wasn't making this easy for her, was he? Always showing up just when she needed him most. It wasn't helping. She turned to face him, feeling righteous anger with a bite of hate well up inside her, warming the grave chill that tingled in her fingers and toes, setting her teeth permanently on edge. Which was another reason she liked having him around. He could make her burn with hate and for a few short minutes, he gave her that fire back. And as much as she loved that fire, she hated that only he seemed able to do that.

"You know what I want," he told her in a low voice as, in one long stride, he pressed himself against her, hands at his sides, whispering into her ear. "And I know what you want."

She felt his breath flutter her hair as his lips brushed against her ear.

"I don't want this, Spike," she pushed him back. "I don't -"

But his lips, insistent and hard, cut her off and she returned the kiss, her hands no longer pushing him away, but desperately tugging him close.

"Oh, now we're cooking with gas, Slayer," he said, as they pulled apart.

"And if you stay out here too long, the sun will be cooking with Spike!" she retorted, but kissed him again. "We shouldn't," she gasped suddenly, pulling away, horrified that she was doing it _again_.

"But we will," he smirked.

She couldn't find the energy to argue with him and instead pulled him into another kiss to make him shut the hell up, because it was when he talked that she hated herself.

His arm wound around her waist, tugging her close with sudden ferocity. She hissed against his mouth and he pulled away with a frown.

"You're hurt," he stated.

"No, I'm not," she replied defiantly, grabbing his shirt, but he jabbed a finger into her back and she yelped pain.

"Come on," he turned away from her in the direction of the crypt. "You coming or not?" he asked, glancing back to find her gaping in surprise, not moving.

She tried to argue, tried to goad him into making her hate him. But she couldn't find an argument and she followed him.

To her surprise, he slipped his hand gently into hers and led her to his crypt without a word. To her further surprise, when he squeezed her hand, she squeezed back with a gentle smile.

* * *

"Sit still, you stupid bloody bint!"

"It's cold!"

"It's supposed to be!" he answered and threw his arms up, waving the ice pack in frustration. "It's ice, Buffy! Ice is _cold_!"

"Fine!" she huffed and leaned forward a little more, twisting her fingers into her top which she had removed.

She waited while he frowned at the large bruise that spread up along her spine.

"Wasn't me, was it?" he mumbled.

"Huh?" she glanced over her shoulder to watch him gently place the ice pack over the bruise.

"I didn't do that?" he asked, not looking at her.

"No," she fixed her gaze at the door again. "Fight I had earlier. Hit a headstone."

He nodded and pressed the ice pack a little firmer against her back. She hissed a little, but quickly relaxed, letting out a soft "mmmm," of contentment.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much."

He smiled at that and pulled an ice cube from the pack, before tossing the rest to the side.

"Wha-" she glanced around at him, but shut up as he placed the lone ice cube at the base of her spine.

He ran it slowly up her spine and she tilted her head back, then bowed it forward as he ran the ice cube over her bare shoulder blades. He dipped it over her shoulders and back again. As he passed it across the base of her neck, she tilted her head back again, trapping the ice and his fingers. He massaged gently, the heat of her skin quickly melting the ice cube.

As the water trickled down her back, she turned swiftly, capturing him in a soft kiss. His fingers sought the ice pack as they kissed and he grabbed more ice cubes. He ran one over her lips as he placed more on her neck.

She moaned as he massaged her neck with the ice, and her hand dipped down to his pants.

They used up a lot of ice that night.


	3. Scene 3: Complicated Simple Things

**_Scenes From The Sex Wars  
_Scene 3: Complicated Simple Things**

Author's Note: This picks up straight after the last scene, after Spike and Buffy have done the deed.

* * *

She lay curled on his chest, goosebumps peppering her skin and he pulled up the blankets to warm her. He pushed the now empty ice pack to the floor and wrapped his arms around her waist. Tight enough to feel her, but not tight enough to wake her and send her running out into the sunlight.

He liked to stay awake now, savour the moments she slept in his arms more out of pure exhaustion than anything else.

He knew she would wake up soon and she would leave. He was never sure how he would get through the rest of the day wondering if she'd come back. It was like everytime she left, his heart broke a little more. Not that he could tell her that. But that's how it felt. Not much he could do about it.

He did think sometimes, though, that he was doing something wrong. He loved her so much; she should be able to feel it. So it must be because he was doing something wrong. Which wasn't anything new, doing things wrong was a bit of a hobby of his.

Not much he could do about that either.

* * *

Buffy wasn't asleep. She pretended to be because it was easier than getting up, making her usual speeches about this never happening again and then lying to Dawn and Willow about why she was out all night.

Sometimes, when she lay here, listening to the silence in his chest, she remembered a heartbeat. It was a vague memory, like when you wake from a dream you can't remember, but later in the day, you catch a glimpse of what was in the dream. But even as you reach out to grab it, it's gone.

She thought it was a memory of Riley at first, but it was a different chest she remembered. One that should have been cool instead of warm, silent instead of filled with a steady drumming. She realised after a moment that it was Angel, but she put it down to wishful thinking, a memory of the gazillion times she daydreamed about him becoming human. She guessed it was a kind of torture she had devised for herself, reminding herself what she should want. It rarely worked; she had ended that daydream a long time ago. She had to, if she hadn't, she was sure she would have gone mad.

She was surprised when Spike drew the blanket up to cover her.

God, she wished this was easier. She wished that this could be simple. If she could just walk away, end it, that would be good.

Or, stranger still, part of her wished she could stop hating him and needing him at the same time. Sometimes she wished this could be an actual relationship, she wished she could be in love with him because she knew that he did love her, beneath all those dark whispers about her craving him, she knew he loved her.

She remembered what love felt like, she remembered passion, burning and awe-consuming. She remembered a quiet passion, warm, the kind that crept over her slowly.

She wished she could feel some kind of passion for Spike. If she could, this could be good. She would feel again without hating herself. They could stop fighting, stop hating, stop this stupid charade. Because neither of them wanted this. It wasn't her dream and she guessed it wasn't his.

But she didn't know how to change things. When she thought maybe she did, he would say something and any generous feeling she had toward him would shatter and be replaced with repulsion and vehement dislike. Then she wished she could kill him so it would be over.

She never thought about what would happen after that. She was scared she would imagine she would feel nothing, because that would make her the hard unfeeling person she didn't want to be before she had died. She was even more scared in case she imagined it hurt, because then it would mean something and once more she had got rid of the one person in her life she truly loved.

Not that she loved him. That was the problem, wasn't it?

She stirred on his chest and he swallowed a sigh. But she didn't leap away from him; instead she sat up slowly and stood up, hugging the blankets to her chest.

"You going?" he asked. Stupid really, as he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I should be there before Dawn wakes up."

"Well, you should get there in time," he told her, glancing to where light crept into the crypt from a dusty window. "Sun's only just come up."

She nodded, dressing silently, quickly, but not like she usually did, as though she wanted to be gone as soon as possible. He didn't comment on it, lately every time he wanted to say something it came out snide. No wonder this thing with Buffy was so warped, he couldn't even be nice when he wanted to.

"I'll…" she had walked to the door and was facing him, he twisted his head to at her.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"I'll see you tonight," she said. "I could use some help on patrol."

"Patrol," he nodded and to his surprise, it didn't come out as sarcastic as his comments had a disturbing tendency to. "I'll see you at dusk then."

"No," she shook her head, a small smile on her face. "I told Dawn I'd stay in and we'd do something. About midnight would be good. Unless something happens."

"Right," he sat up, covering his modesty with a blanket. "I'll see you then."

She nodded and turned, pulling open the heavy door.

"Buffy?"

She exhaled long and hard. She didn't want him to say something, they had just had a civil conversation, friendly even, she didn't want that ruined.

"Yeah?" she didn't turn around, merely inclined her head toward him slightly.

"I, uh… I'll meet you outside here."

"Oh, ok, right…" she slipped out and practically ran away from the crypt.

In the crypt, Spike lay down again, with a slight smile. Maybe there was hope after all.

But he doubted it. You don't mend the things they had said and done to each other with one conversation. And it hurt. It hurt that she could be with him at night, but at the first light of day, she would run away.

He hated it. But if that was all he was going to get…

* * *

Buffy had left the cemetery in record time, breathing heavily. She shouldn't have done it. She should have stuck to the old routine. By having a friendly conversation with him, she might have changed the rules, she might have made him think there was some hope.

God, this all hurt so much. She crossed the street, head bowed, hand gripping her stake.

She blamed the sun.

Everytime she thought things would be ok, up the sun came and showed up everything in all its ugly glory.

It was like that with Angel. It was fact she could walk in the sun and he couldn't that tore them apart, that's what made him realise how different they were, made him see how they could never be together.

Riley… Riley was a human, playing at being a night owl. She was the only one out of the two of them that could handle the long hours. She only realised that when the sun came up and she was still wide-awake while he yawned.

She blamed the sun.

Because it was easier than blaming herself or him. She didn't have to think about how much she liked the pain this gave her, because it made her feel something besides the ache. The pain was what pushed the memories away, enabling her to focus on something beyond the ache, the pain was what gave her the emptiness. The pain made things easy. If he hurt her, she could hate him. If it made her empty of old wounds, old pains, old memories, it made things easier for a little while.

And that was what she truly craved.

* * *

**_The End._**


End file.
